Blue Plague The Fall

by Watson, Thomas A.

  “Well, it seems that I have a lot of living up to do from the stories I heard with you walking out with something dragging the floor, and I don’t mean your clothes,” Alex said, smiling.

  “No shit. People are saying it was dragging the floor?” Bruce asked, poking his chest out.

  “Yes, Bruce, they were wondering how little Angela could handle a human tripod,” Alex said, laughing at Bruce’s reaction.

  The three were talking and laughing when Angela walked up with Cade, her sixteen-month-old son, in her arms. He was half as big as she was. The baby had his head on her shoulder, asleep. Seeing her with the child, Bruce said a prayer that they could pull this off.

  “Let’s go. I want everyone to stay behind me. I’m going out the door to have a look around then I will knock on the door to signal for y’all to come out,” Bruce said, looking at everyone, and each gave a nod.

  Walking down the hall toward the door with everyone in single file behind Bruce, he held up his hand when he reached the door. Everyone stopped along the wall. Bruce grabbed the handle and went through the door. Stepping outside, he ran into Captain Asshole with two soldiers in the alley outside.

  “Well, hello, nurse. Going somewhere?” the captain said as the door latched behind Bruce.

  Chapter 25

  Bruce froze, looking at the captain who had been following the two soldiers. The two soldiers stepped apart, one on each side of the alley. Each was only inches from Bruce, and they had their weapons slung across their backs and were looking at him. The captain stepped forward between the two soldiers, stopping less than foot from Bruce.

  “I asked you a question, boy. What are you doing out here? I could shoot you now, smartass, or just detain you someplace special,” the captain said with a wicked smile.

  Bruce knew where this was headed. The captain just wanted him to beg or attempt something. Well, he got his wish as Bruce slumped his shoulders, looking down in mock defeat. The captain laughed at Bruce’s reaction.

  Bruce’s right hand shot out from his side, hitting the captain in the throat with a half fist. Bruce felt cartilage crush under the hit. Twisting his body to his left then whipping it back to his right, Bruce chopped the soldier on his right in the throat. Rotating his upper body back to the left, he hit the last soldier in the throat with a half fist, feeling the cartilage crush from the blow. Knowing the soldier who was on his right was now the main threat because he only delivered a chop to his throat, Bruce dropped his hand down to his pocket, pulling out his knife and opening it on the way up. Both solders were wearing ballistic vests, so he stabbed the soldier on the right in the side of the throat then quickly pulled out the knife, and blood hit the alley wall. Turning to the soldier on his left, Bruce saw he was sliding down the wall with his hands on his throat trying to breathe through a crushed windpipe. Bruce snapped a kick into the soldier’s stomach, doubling the soldier over. Bruce swung his arm in an arc, bringing the knife down and driving it through the base of his skull. The soldier dropped to the ground, dead before he hit the concrete. Turning to look at the captain, Bruce saw him lying curled up with his hands on his throat, trying to breath.

  Bruce took the captain’s pistol, a standard M-9 Berretta, out of his holster. Bruce then kicked the captain in the kidney hard, making him roll on his back. The captain’s face was already turning blue as Bruce knelt beside him smiling, “I was a Ranger, asshole.”

  Then Bruce drove the knife into the captain’s stomach, twisting it. “On your way to hell, remember it was a nurse that sent you there,” he said, pulling the knife out. He rolled the captain to the side, driving the knife into the base of his skull, and the captain stopped moving. Turning back to the soldier who had been on his right, Bruce saw he had passed out and was twitching from blood loss. Bruce’s stab to his throat had gotten all the arteries on the left side of his neck. Bruce looked back at the door and saw three faces pressed against it. He motioned for them to open the door. The whole fight had lasted less than thirty seconds. Saying a silent prayer of thanks, Bruce was glad he still practiced his martial arts every week. He looked back to the three dead bodies.

  “Go ahead and call your troops to save you captain,” Bruce told the dead body as he grinned thankful to be alive.

  Mike was the first out. “Holy shit, Bruce. I heard someone say something, and I went to look out the window. You were moving so fast I could not even follow your hands.”

  “Don’t let the door close,” he said. Angela stood in front of it, holding it open with a look of awe and horror, with Cade still asleep on her shoulder.

  “Strip all of them, and I mean down to underwear,” Bruce said, reaching down to the soldier who had been on his left, pulling the rifle off of the body. It was an M-4 with a forty-millimeter grenade launcher. Bruce pulled the magazine out and tapped it on the weapon to seat the rounds, and from the feel, it was full. Then he opened the breach, and there was a grenade in the chamber. He pulled it out to inspect it. The round was HE high explosive. In real life, it could not blow up a car like in Hollywood. The round only had a five-meter kill zone, but it did have uses, and Bruce was trained how to use it thanks to Uncle Sam. Replacing the shell, Bruce closed the breech. Mike and Alex were stripping the bodies one at time, working together and setting everything off to the side. They already had the soldier who had been on Bruce’s right down to his underwear. Then, they moved over to the other soldier; with Alex untying his boots and Mike pulling off the ballistic vest, they stripped the soldier to underwear. All three had sidearms; the captain and the other soldier had regular M-4s that went into the pile.

  “Change of plans,” Bruce said. “After you strip all three, I want you to move to the car and put all the equipment, including their uniforms, in the car. Then all of you get in the car and lay low. I will be there soon,” Bruce told them with a look of death on his face.

  “What the hell are you going to do?” Mike asked.

  “Giving the staff in the ER a chance and the rest of the staff that have their kids being held hostage a choice. They have a right to make their own decision about what they want to do. If you hear a lot of gunfire, get out of here. I will steal a car and meet you at the trailer. Only wait for me until Sunday morning then start to the farm,” Bruce said, handing Mike the keys to the car.

  Bruce reached down, pulled out two magazines and two more forty-millimeter grenades from one pile, and put them in his messenger bag. Slinging the M-4 across his back, he pulled out his .45 and attached the suppressor. Then he pulled the magazines off his ankles, shoving them under the front of the body holster. Walking past Angela, who was holding the door open, Bruce turned and said, “Get moving soon. There should be no infected around but keep alert.”

  Walking down the hall back to the ER, Bruce was pissed off and in the mood to kill something. With the .45 in his right hand, he opened the stairway door that led up to the ER. Walking up the stairs, Bruce paused at the door. There had never been more than four soldiers in the ER, and change of shift was at 8 a.m. Looking at his watch, he saw it was almost 6 a.m.––plenty of time. Opening the door, Bruce walked back into the ER. Everyone stopped and looked at him. He was covered in blood with a gun in his hand and one across his back. Walking forward, Bruce said, “Those of you wanting to leave, you are fixing to have your chance. Now I want everyone on the floor.”

  People everywhere started lying down, praying Bruce was going to give them a chance to get out of here. That was all they wanted; everyone knew they were dead here. They might die outside, but at least they would have a chance.

  Bruce walked over to a phone and picked it up, punching the ER intercom button. Blowing into the handset and hearing it overhead, he said over the intercom, “Attention please. I just got finished raping the captain, and he is a lousy fuck. In begging me to stop, he agreed that all medical staff could leave. If any of his men attempted to stop the staff, I would be allowed to rape them as well,” Bruce finished, replacing the handset on the phone.

/>   He heard running boots coming down the hall. All four soldiers came through the door together, running. They had their weapons out, but all were pointed at the floor. Bruce snapped the .45 up, shooting each one in the face, snapping their heads back and blowing the backs of the skulls out. All four fell as one to the floor; the shots were quick and someone clapping his hands made more noise than the shots. Bruce walked over, put a new magazine in, and pulled off two ballistic vests. One had an M249 a belt-fed 5.56. Bruce looked down at one of the vests he had pulled off and saw it had two full ammo pouches. Each vest weighed thirty pounds, and the M249 weighed twenty-seven pounds, a lot more than he wanted to carry. Glancing around, Bruce saw a small supply cart. Taking everything over, he laid it on top of the cart and started pushing it out of the ER toward the conference room.

  “If you know how to use a weapon, grab one. The two soldiers that walk around the university are dead. I would leave soon,” Bruce said in a loud flat tone as he felt a sensation he remembered from long ago coursing through him.

  “What about my kids?” a resident asked.

  “I’m going to fix that,” Bruce said.

  A university police officer came up to him and asked, “You need any help?”

  “Just help anyone that wants to leave,” Bruce said, walking past him to the boardroom. The boardroom was down the hall from the ER. The problem was going to be getting close enough to take the two guards. Bruce stopped as a plan came to him, and he went back to the ER and grabbed a bed sheet to cover the looted equipment on top of the cart. He pushed the cart in front of him like a waiter. He had his .45 in his right hand under the sheet. As he rounded the corner, he saw the soldiers sitting in chairs in front of the door going into the boardroom. As he rolled his cart down the hall, they both looked at him with suspicion.

  “Hey, troops, the captain had some girls go down into the kitchen to cook some food. He said we had to feed all of the soldiers before the staff could eat,” Bruce said, rolling the cart to them.

  He could see the suspicion erase off of their faces as they stood up, shouldering their weapons. “You have got to like the captain,” one said.

  “Well, you need to hurry and eat so we can eat,” Bruce said, coming down the hall closing the distance.

  “Who says we won’t eat all of the food, nurse?” the other soldier said as they both started walking toward him.

  When they were less than five feet away, Bruce brought the pistol up fast and pulled the trigger. The first soldier never knew what hit him; he was dead on his feet. Swinging the weapon over, the other soldier’s eyebrows were just starting to move, showing surprise as a .45 slug slammed into his nose, killing him. He walked over, opening the door and looking inside. Bruce saw kids sleeping everywhere and a lady waving him out. He stepped back out and walked back to the soldiers. Bruce bent down and took eight hand grenades off of them. One of the soldiers had another M-4 with a grenade launcher, so Bruce took it. The vest the soldier had on had pouches all over the front loaded with forty-millimeter shells. Bruce took it off of him and placed everything on the cart and started back to the ER. The car was parked at the bottom to the ambulance bay. Turning the corner, Bruce snapped his pistol up, realizing that the hall was full of people. They were all staff, and he lowered the pistol.

  “Are the kids okay?” someone asked.

  “Yes, if you are leaving, you need to do it quick,” he said. Stopping someone, Bruce asked him how they knew. He replied, “Someone from the ER called and said we could come and get our kids and leave; the captain said so. I don’t know what changed that evil son of a bitch’s mind, but I’m glad.” Then he took off running to get his kid and leave the university.

  Walking back with his cart to the ambulance entrance, Bruce saw Kelly in the ambulance bay holding an M-4. He walked past patients on monitors and felt a twinge of guilt. How would history view the staff for leaving patients unattended? Well, right now he did not give a shit.

  “Shopping?” Kelly asked.

  “You could say that. How did everyone upstairs know about the kids?” he asked.

  “Everyone grabbed a phone in the ER and called all over the hospital to tell the staff upstairs that if they had a kid to run down the stairs to the first floor but don’t go into the main hallway until someone came and told them the kids were okay,” Kelly let him know.

  Standing in the bay door, Bruce could see cars pulling out of the parking lot across the street head away in every direction. Then he started seeing people coming out carrying kids, heading to the parking lot. “Where are you headed?” Bruce asked, walking past Kelly pushing his cart down the drive to the Mini.

  “To my mom and dad’s in Texas. They have a small farm,” Kelly replied.

  “You be careful,” he told her as the hatch popped open. Mike got out of the driver’s seat and walked to the back and started helping Bruce throw stuff in.

  “Both of you be careful, and thank you for coming back for us. Remember, if you two teach anatomy again, I want in the class,” Kelly replied, walking off.

  Both of them had to lean on the hatch to get it closed. With Alex behind the passenger seat and Angela behind the driver with Cade in the middle, there was not much room in a Mini to start with. It was cramped to say the least, but they only had to go fifteen miles to Haughton. If the reports they had gotten earlier were correct, then they could park at the racetrack. The walk to the trailer was only two miles from the racetrack, but they did have a lot of shit. They both climbed into the Mini, with Bruce driving. He put on his Oakley’s and put the key in the ignition and started the car. Just then a Caddo sheriff car pulled in behind them. Bruce grabbed his .45, and Mike was getting out with an M-4.

  “Hold it Mike. It’s Jerry,” Bruce said, getting out of the Mini.

  Jerry got out of the patrol car and started walking up to Bruce. “I was coming to make sure you two got out before I left town with my family,” he said, extending his hand. Bruce shook it.

  “Yeah, we are getting the hell out of Dodge, Jerry,” Bruce informed him.

  “The only rescue center in operation now is the Air Force base. Last night, we lost all the schools, and we just lost the coliseum. The hospital is the last center in Shreveport, and Homeland just announced that they were not going to evacuate it. There would be too much of a risk to bring the infection into a safe zone,” Jerry said, looking at Bruce.

  “What else is happening?” Mike asked.

  “We just received orders to execute anyone not reporting to a shelter. Homeland said it’s better to kill them than let them get infected and become the enemy,” Jerry informed him.

  “Well, we are out of here. Thank you, Jerry, for coming to check on us. We are headed to Haughton,” Bruce said.

  “Don’t go past the racetrack, and do not go downtown. It is a war down there now. Take 220, and don’t stop for anything. Shoot anything that tries to stop you––that means cops, too. Then get the hell away from the area. Infected are drawn to noise like bees to honey. The military is in charge now, and most of the police force has left or is dead. I’m going to my family at the hunting camp. Just came by to get you two out; now I’m leaving. The wife already took the kids to the camp,” Jerry said, climbing back into the patrol car. “Be careful Bruce, it’s hell out there.” Jerry backed out and sped off down the road.

  Bruce and Mike climbed back into the Mini. Bruce backed out and pulled onto the road. Then, spinning tires, he sped off down the road driving like a bat out of hell.

  “You are not Jason Bourne,” Mike said as Bruce weaved around stalled cars.

  “Of course not, I’m in the Italian job,” Bruce replied, letting out a loud rebel yell, and everyone laughed as Bruce sped off down the road.

  Chapter 26

  As Bruce and Mike were speeding to the trailer, the family was gathered around the kitchen table eating breakfast. Mary was in mission control, and Danny was in the fort. It had been two days since the shooting, and no one else had come to the farm.
They had seen their first infected yesterday. It was a man outside the fence trying to get in with the horses. Mary had seen from mission control the blue man walking in the field from the road to the outside fence. She had called on the radio, and Steve, Debbie, and Stephanie went to investigate. The smell just about gagged all of them. The horses had run to the other side of the pasture. His skin was blue, and he just kept beating at the ten-foot fence knowing food was over there. When he saw the trio, he let out a moan just as Stephanie shot him in the head with her suppressed M-4. She told everyone not to let them make the hunger call, because if any others were around, they would come. The entire family waited for more infected to come, but none did. Debbie was thinking about the encounter when she stood up and called for everyone’s attention.

  “I have a job for all of you boys this morning,” she said, with everyone looking at her. “We have buried on this property a lot of metal cases that I want dug up today.”

  “Debbie, everything in those boxes is illegal. Don’t you want to wait for Mike and Bruce to get back?” Nancy asked.

  “We have killed a constable. I believe that the law is the least of our concerns now,” Debbie replied.

  “What the hell is in these boxes, and why didn’t we know about them?” Steve asked.

  “About a hundred suppressors and the equipment to make everyone’s rifle selective fire and a lot of the backup armory full auto also. Plus some other stuff we thought we might need but the government thinks otherwise. We, as the parents, did not want any of you to know about the boxes so you could not get in trouble if the feds ever showed up,” Debbie told Steve.

  “We have suppressors, Mom. Why run the risk for more?” Jake asked her.

  “Each suppressor we have, we had to pay a two-hundred-dollar tax. That is ten for the rifles and the seven we have for pistols. That is three thousand four hundred just in tax. Your father and Mike took three of the pistol suppressors. As it stands now, we have to share suppressors for the pistols: three for nine millimeter and one for .45. None of the sniper rifles have suppressors. We could not afford the cost for all the weapons we have here,” Debbie informed Jake.